


This Would Be It.

by marquis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, i don't know what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marquis/pseuds/marquis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam works in a cemetery and Louis is everything he wants, everything he once had, and everything he never dreamed of.<br/>(Saying anything else might ruin it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Would Be It.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serendipitee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/gifts).



> Inspired by [this poem](http://goldflume.tumblr.com/post/47354136257/im-not-drunk-yet-but-we-havent-spoken-in), [this photo](http://www.flickr.com/photos/jessicasecret/4223527049/), and just a bit by a lovely book called "Reaper Man" written by Terry Pratchett, if you squint and think really hard. (Except that's really just a bit of an easter egg, if any of you want to know the real plot twist at the end, so.)  
> Uses a quote from "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop. Basically, this is a combination of all the different inspirations I've stumbled upon in the past couple months.  
> Gifted to Mel because she is, quite literally, how I make it through my day. <3

“Well, look at that, Mrs. Jones,” Liam said, leaning over to pick up the wilted flowers at the base of the tombstone. “You thought your daughter wasn’t going to come along this month, didn’t you? She was running a little late, but she made it in the end. Have a little faith.” He nodded his head to her with a small smile and moved onto the next bouquet.

He’d just been through this section yesterday; normally, he’d wait a couple more days and work his way through the different areas on their scheduled dates before coming back through. It had rained all day long, though, so he knew that there wouldn’t be many flowers to pick up anywhere. Besides, any that had been left behind had been pelted and drenched. The ones in his hands were dripping morosely, petals muddy and crumpled up, and it was unlikely that any others had fared better.

The graveyard – cemetery, _cemetery_ ; graveyard made it sound far too gloomy – was empty by now, the hidden sun no doubt creeping below the horizon behind heavy, looming clouds. Liam carried a flashlight at his side for when it got too dark to see without it, for when he had to go back to his little home in the back corner. Liam could probably make it without the light; he knew the path better than he knew the sidewalks outside by now. It was nice to have, though, so he kept it with him.

A small dandelion sat in front of one of the gravestones. Liam leaned down and picked it up. “Sorry, Lou. I know you would love to keep it, but Lux likes to think that you come up to collect them at night.” He swallowed and tried not to think too much about it, really, because it was much better that way. It was easier to pretend that they were sleeping, or out there somewhere, capable of hearing him and what he said. He’d known Lou, before he went off to Uni. She used to cut his hair, when he was younger.

Just as he’d thought, most of the gravestones were empty. On his trek through the cemetery, he only found three or four more piles of flowers, enough that he could carry them all in his hands without any sort of trouble. The flashlight hung untouched at his side, slapping lightly against his leg as he walked.

The sun was mostly down now, most likely, although the clouds were still thick in the sky and it didn’t seem to matter either way. Liam thought he saw someone standing a little ways off, looking down at one of the stones.

“Hello?” he called, trying to shift the flowers all to one arm so that he could get his light and check for sure. “Uhm. Excuse me? The cemetery isn’t open to visitors anymore, I don’t think. Assuming the sun has set. I think it has, mostly.”

It was certainly a person, anyway, as they’d shifted in the time he’d been talking. From what Liam could tell, it was someone relatively small, and he had no reason to feel nervous or intimidated. It was likely a younger sibling or a grandparent or something, and he might have even offered them a cuppa, if they seemed too distraught to go home; it had happened before. He walked forward until he could tell that it was a boy, probably around his age, with feathery hair and eyes like summer sky.

“Sorry,” the boy apologized, when Liam was close enough that he could hear. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

“Quite alright,” Liam allowed. “Hard to tell, when it’s been cloudy all day like this. Are you…” he looked at the gravestone, just to double-check his facts. And then he paused, because he knew better. “A nephew?”

“No. I, uh, didn’t know him.” The boy shrugged a bit sheepishly. “I just like coming through here, that’s all. Reading all of the nice things engraved. It’s peaceful, isn’t it?”

There were other people who might’ve found that creepy, hanging out in a graveyard just because they had the time and wanted to read the stones. Liam understood it, though; he worked on this land, tended to the area and kept everything nice and clean. It had stopped being creepy to him a while before he’d even started working there, just after… well.

Liam looked down at the gravestone and read the name on it, one he’d known for his entire life. He tried not to be too relieved at the fact that he hadn’t, in fact, known the boy looking at it tonight. “Do you want to come for some tea…?”

“Ah! Louis. My name’s Louis Tomlinson,” he said, nodding. “I would love to.”

“Liam Payne.” Liam did his best to gesture towards his humble abode, just a little black blob in the corner of the cemetery, and off they went.

Louis didn’t seem to notice the flowers until they finally got to Liam’s little home and he tossed them into a bin outside his door. It was overflowing with decaying botany, little collections of the flowers that people spent way too much on just to leave behind. When he did notice, though, he paused and looked at it curiously. “That’s a lot of flowers.”

Liam shrugged, pushing open the door and walking inside. Louis would follow, he knew. “There’s a rather large population in this town, whether it seems like it or not, and there are even more graves.”

“You don’t make that sound quite so sad as most people would.”

 _There are two gravestones out there that explain why_ , Liam thinks, but he doesn’t say that. He shrugs again and walks into the kitchen, placing the kettle on the stove. “Do you like milk or sugar in your tea?”

“No, I’ll take it black as my soul,” Louis tells him, taking a seat at the rickety wooden table. “I’m plenty sweet enough as is.”

“Charming.”

\--

It was the last time Liam got a visitor for quite a while. He supposed it might have been due to the heavy springtime rains, falling drearily over everyone and turning the grounds to mud. It got on his shoes and seeped through his clothes, dripped through holes in the roof and left everything feeling damp and cold.

There was one funeral over the course of the week, and he was afraid that they might slip and drop the casket on their way to the marked area. He stayed inside to give them their space until the official procedure was over, just as he always had, before going out to fill in the grave the rest of the way and clear out the flowers left behind. White lilies filled his rubbish bin for two days afterwards, stained brown and crushed beneath dirty trainers.

He occasionally passed by the gravestone and looked at it, though, little curious glances. _Karen & Geoff Payne, Beloved Mother and Father_. There was a little quote at the bottom, but Liam never made it that far down; he had to walk away. He wasn’t sure why Louis chose to stand in front of that particular gravestone, and he’d have liked to ask.

It hadn’t been a surprise, really. Liam had been at school in the city, studying to go into medicine, when his mum got sick. He’d dropped out and come home to help her, even though she’d refused and told him not to. It hadn’t mattered; by then, it was mostly just making sure she was comfortable. Liam’s dad had sort of faded away after the funeral, slipping and sliding down a slope that Liam could never help him back up.

They were buried side by side, but Liam and his sisters only managed to get one headstone. Maybe it was better that way; it made it sound more like they’d died at the same time, like it had been painless and quick and all the things it hadn’t been. Liam didn’t like to think about it much.

Anyway, he hadn’t wanted to leave home after that. There was no motivation to go back to school, not when he certainly couldn’t afford it, and so he’d taken up a job that was available and done exactly what he came back to do: he took care of his parents. And it was a little morbid, and it was certainly lonely, but Liam told himself he didn’t mind, and after a little while he started to believe that he really, truly didn’t. Really.

\--

When he did see Louis again, it was in the same place. There were no clouds this time; it was all clear sky, fading from pink to purple in the setting sun. Liam held a few flowers in his hands, little bundles of roses and daisies that trailed petals along behind him. He couldn’t wave, but he thought he might not have to.

He was right. “You said your last name was Payne, didn’t you?” Louis questioned, not turning away from the engraving. When Liam nodded, he sighed. “I was hoping I’d misheard you before. It explains a lot, anyway. Why you’re sticking around here when you’re so young.”

“Some people pay for their parents to live in retirement homes, and I know that both of them would have hated that. I’m giving them my time instead; it’s the only thing they really would have wanted, I think.” Liam tried not to look, didn’t want to read the names again today.

Louis didn’t say anything in response. He plucked a little daisy from Liam’s hands and set it on the ground. When he did speak, it wasn’t to apologize. Liam was more than a little grateful. “Am I still welcome in for some tea, Liam Payne?”

“Be my guest,” he responded, once more gesturing to the outline of his home in the bright setting sun. “There’s always room at the table, anyway.”

They didn’t talk much that night, and they didn’t really need to. It wasn’t as if they knew each other, even though it felt almost like they did. Louis never asked for an explanation, a _how_ or a _when_ or a _why_. He just sipped his tea out of an off-white mug and prattled on about nothing, like he felt perfectly at home in Liam’s tiny little kitchen.

“Of course, Lottie didn’t want to go. She was determined to stay curled up in her room, even if we’d already taken out the furniture. It was a little sad, actually, but only until we threatened to leave without her. She changed her tune right quick after that.” Louis nodded enthusiastically, as if Liam should understand everything he was saying. Liam was a bit busy trying to memorize the names of the four sisters, in case another one of these stories came up.

“Right, yeah,” he muttered. _Charlie – no, no, Lottie. Lottie, Georgia, Felicity and Phoebe. Oh, and Daisy. The other twin. That’s all, right?_

Louis smiled with his lips closed, eyes mischievous. “You’re not listening.”

“You tend to talk a lot. Sorry.”

“You _tend_ to be a horrible listener. And storyteller. And human being.”

“You tend to exaggerate.”

Louis sighed, but the smile hadn’t left his face. “Are you quite finished?”

“That depends. Are you?”

“With my tea? Hardly. It’s very good. Liam, I think you should follow your true calling: making tea for other people. Go work in a coffee shop so I can pay you.”

It was the fourth time that night that Louis had suggested a change in careers for Liam. It might have been funny, if not for the fact that it kept happening. As it was, Liam wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. It wasn’t that unusual, working on a cemetery. Not with his circumstances, at least. He couldn’t quite figure out why Louis seemed so against it.

“You can always pay me anyway, you know.”

“It’s just not the _same_ , Liam. I can hardly flirt with the cute cashier if he doesn’t actually work in a coffee shop or a bakery, you know,” Louis scolded. Liam tried to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks.

\--

Louis’ intake of breath was sharp and near-silent, hands flying to grab at Liam’s short hair. His skin was flushed, heated; Liam wanted to keep it that way. He nipped lightly along Louis’ jaw, mouthed where it met his neck, made his way back to the parted lips.

He’d expected it to be cheeky and fun. He’d expected for Louis to pinch and poke at him, to grin until his eyes crinkled at the corners and his eyes were just two little blue slits in his face. It had been easy, in Liam’s head, something that was naturally the next step up. There was nothing tense, nothing different, nothing heavy.

He’d been so terribly, horribly wrong.

Louis had looked at him, damp from the falling rain outside. He’d really, truly _looked,_ too, with those sharp eyes roving over the sticky, transparent material of Liam’s white shirt and the way his jeans had been pulled down low on his hips from the weight of the water in them. He’d looked like he _wanted_ , and Liam had wanted to know why he didn’t just take, just push him down onto the table and take what he wanted. He could have.

It looked like he thought about it, too. Instead he’d asked to take a shower, please, and Liam had said yes with a voice that sounded like tires on gravel. Since they’d come inside, the rain had started to come down much harder, with rolling thunder and bright lightning on the not-so-distant horizon, and Liam could still think clearly enough to know that neither of them would be going anywhere.

Lying on his bed and listening to the running water and the rainfall, knowing that Louis was standing in steam and using _his_ things – well. It was harder on him than he might have thought it would be. When Louis had come out and asked for a change of clothes, wrapped up in a towel and looking at his toes, Liam knew that he wasn’t going to be able to just ignore everything flying through him. All of the heat, the tension, the admiration.

He’d slammed Louis up against the wall and pressed their lips together.

Now Louis was struggling to wrap his legs around Liam’s hips, towel forgotten on the floor beneath their feet. His hands scrambled for purchase, flitting from Liam’s hair to his shirt to his shoulders, nails scratching and digging into skin even through damp fabric.

“You should get out of those clothes,” Louis gasped out, gripping at Liam’s collar. “You’re going to get a cold.” Liam felt plenty warm in spite of the wet fabric, but he saw Louis’ point – the one he _hadn’t_ said – quite clearly. He walked them over to the bed and threw Louis down, tugging his shirt off as quickly as he could manage and letting Louis get to work on his jeans.

And that was the last they spoke for the night, communicating entirely in breaths half-finished and gasps barely audible over the storm outside. Liam lost himself in the way that Louis watched him, like there was something terrible or powerful or beautiful that he couldn’t make his mind up on. Like he was torn between running away and spending forever exactly where he was. He lost himself trying to figure out _why_.

In the morning, Louis’ side of the bed was cold, and his clothes were gone from the bathroom floor. Like he’d never even been there at all.

\--

“I never see you in town. Sometimes, I think I might have made you up,” Liam mused aimlessly, fingers stuck like glue under Louis’ chin. “How are you even real?”

For whatever reason, that was the question that made Louis freeze up. He averted his gaze, staring at the floor or the wall or anything but Liam, lips a thin line in his worn face. Liam was struck by just how old he seemed, then, like he had so many stories to tell and he was trying to hold in every single one of them. Like he was hiding something.

Liam tried not to think how many times he’d seen this look, like when Louis answered something he shouldn’t have known. When he told Liam that his parents would want him to be happy, one lazy Sunday, and it had sounded entirely sincere. It had sounded like he knew Liam’s parents, once, and he knew exactly what they thought of this lonely graveyard groundskeeper with the grey face and the large brown eyes. It had sounded like he _knew_ , and he shouldn’t have.

Those thoughts weren’t going to do anyone any good. Asking Louis what was wrong was like asking why he was only ever in the cemetery, or asking why, if he had so many sisters and a mother and helped out around the house, he was never actually _home_. It ended with him shutting Liam out completely and making his way out the door, polite but never friendly, stony and cold to anything that might have been said to reconcile them.

Instead of asking anymore questions or waiting for an answer, Liam kissed him. That always kept him around for a little while, at least.

\--

There was another funeral going on, and even if he shouldn’t have been, Liam was outside watching. Since Louis started out taking up most of his time, Liam hadn’t kept up with the collecting of the flowers; there were bouquets rotting all over the place, leaving little petals with brown edges to flutter to and fro in the breeze. He _had_ to come out and collect them today, when Louis wasn’t around, or it would never get done. He had to keep doing his job, or risk getting kicked off the property and having to start all over again, abandoning his parents once and for all.

So he did, and he avoided making eye contact with anyone in the procession. He kept out of their way, moving around the perimeter and keeping quiet, standing still when he knew it was appropriate and moving when he wouldn’t be noticed. He collected as many of the wilted flowers as he could and held them up in his arms, surrounded by the cloying smell of decay and pollen. The bin was overflowing with the dead and weary buds by the time he was even close to being finished, and then he had to wait until the funeral was over to collect the rest.

It was during that time, actually, that he saw Louis standing there, hidden among the rest in a solemn black button-up. His eyes seemed to meet Liam’s from across the cemetery, looking slightly alarmed and a little bit – well, Liam didn’t know what _that_ particular emotion was, not really. Frustration? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it didn’t look good, but Liam couldn’t particularly blame him, considering he was at a funeral. Liam looked away first and walked to his house, away from the rubbish bin and the procession and Louis, enigma that he was. He walked inside and stayed there, until someone came knocking.

He answered the door with a practiced look of complete innocence, as if that would keep Louis from telling him that he’d been snooping around where he hadn’t been invited. “Hey, Lou-”

“Liam!” said a voice that was very distinctly _not_ Louis. Liam was enveloped in a tangle of long, gangly limbs and rewarded with a mouthful of curly hair for all of his trouble. Harry held on tight, stronger than he was before Liam left for Uni so many years ago. It had been about as many years since the two of them spoke, though, and a lot might have changed since then; Liam tried not to let himself feel guilty for that.

He pulled away just enough to free his face from the monster that was Harry’s hair. “Hey, Haz,” he muttered, petting at him absently. A glimpse over his shoulder revealed that Louis was still there, standing over the open grave. There was someone there with him; Liam couldn’t identify her.

“Where have you _been_?” Harry demanded, petulant. With his face smashed in Liam’s neck and his legs around Liam’s waist, he might have been a child. It wasn’t so far off to make that comparison, Liam thought, not really.

It was a little unfamiliar, having to hold up so much weight. Harry was bigger than Louis. “Shouldn’t you be at a wake, or something?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t you have told everyone you were back, so that you could go too?” Harry retorted, and. Okay. So Liam knew the one that was being buried today. He wished he didn’t, regardless of who it was.

That thought was a little disturbing. Liam had to take his eyes off of Louis and focus on the octopus wrapped around him. “I just – there hasn’t been a good time to come visit, Harry, I’m sorry.”

Harry slithered off and fixed Liam with a glare – he was _tall_ now, god – before stepping around him and entering the house. A quick look at the grave gave away that Louis was gone already, and so was the girl he’d been with. “Bullshit. You never even told me you came back, after the funeral. I would have visited, or something.”

“No you wouldn’t have. You’re off to university. This is probably the first time you’ve even been home since the summer holidays, anyway, and that’s assuming you didn’t go studying abroad or something.” Liam didn’t need someone else telling him how horrible he’d been to his friends; he already knew all about that.

The grin that Harry gave him was sheepish and shy, so very like the Harry that Liam had known all through childhood that he forgave him for pestering, for barging in and stealing the only good chair at the kitchen table, and for reminding him that there was a life outside of Louis and tending gravestones. “Rome, actually. It was lovely.” Well, he _almost_ forgave him, anyway.

Gravestones and Louis could be relied upon, to some extent; Harry could only be relied on to be unreliable, and to charm his way out of any trouble that it got him into. He was being a particular nuisance now, though, even with the dimples and – Liam noticed dark circles under Harry’s eyes, actually, now that he was looking closely.

“I think you need some sleep, Harry,” he said, trying to avoid the sensitive talk about who or why. “I’ve got some work to do outside, but if you’d like to kip in my room, you’re welcome to.”

Harry opened his mouth and Liam could actually _hear_ the protest there, waiting, but it was interrupted by a yawn. He arched an eyebrow and motioned to the stairs, hoping that Harry would listen to him and get some sleep. On the way up the stairs, though, something occurred to Liam.

“Hey, Haz?” Green eyes stared at him, hazy with sleep but concerned nonetheless. Liam pressed on, hoping that he wasn’t going to come off sounding weird or mental for it. “Do you know anyone named Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson?”

Slow blinks. A weary shake of the head. A small smile. “Why, Liam Payne. Have I been replaced?”

Liam tried very hard not to think about the fact that Harry didn’t recognize the name at all. There were always strangers at funerals; that was nothing unusual. “Never,” he replied, watching Harry nod and continue plodding up the stairs to the bed. “Never.”

The last one might have been for himself. Then again, it might not have been. Liam went out to fill in the grave and mark it with the little plaque left for just that purpose:

 _Gemma Styles_  
1990-2013  
the perfect sister and daughter  
she will be missed

Liam thought to himself that Harry would have known every single person at that funeral. There would have been no strangers. He sighed and tried to forget about it, making his way back to his house for a much-needed cuppa.

\--

“I sent an invitation, you know,” Harry muttered into the mug between his hands. “To the address you gave me back when we both went off to Uni. I guess you didn’t get it, did you?”

Predictably, after Liam had finished filling the grave, he’d come home to find Harry crying in his room, rather than sleeping. There hadn’t really been anything to say to that, but he tried, offering Harry something to eat if he wanted it. And now here they were, sitting quietly at the tiny table and ignoring the fact that they hardly even knew one another anymore.

“No, probably not.” Liam shrugged. “I know – well, Anne moved out a while ago, didn’t she, so she probably didn’t know any better, but Gemma had run into me a few times at the grocer’s. I thought she might have told you two that I was here now.”

Harry shrugged right back. “She probably thought that I knew. It wasn’t like – well. We haven’t been close for _years_ , Liam. Chances are she thought I didn’t care, even if I did know. I probably wouldn’t have, before now.”

There were a lot of reasons for that, Liam thought; they hadn’t exactly left off on the best of terms. The last time Harry had even tried to contact Liam had been shortly after his parents’ funeral, apologizing for not being able to make it, offering his condolences – over voicemail. Liam hadn’t wanted to deal with it, so he didn’t reply, and somehow, ignoring one message snowballed into forgetting to contact him at all, and that had been it.

But Harry needed him now, and that was all it took for all of that to be pushed aside. Harry missed his parents’ funeral, and Liam buried Gemma six feet in the ground, took her away for good. It felt like they were even, really, or as close as they would ever get.

“I’m – I probably should have told you myself. I’m sorry about that.”

“S’alright,” Harry said.

That was a lie if Liam had ever heard one, but he let it slide. Nothing was alright at the moment, so they were just going to have to pretend anyway. He smiled and nodded, and when he got up to put his dishes in the sink, he ruffled Harry’s curls. Just for the sake of seeing him smile back.

\--

Liam hadn’t had so many visitors since he shared a dorm with a friendly, drunken Irishman back in his first year at Uni. Harry came in every now and then, brought Zayn along when he could, and Louis was there whenever the two of them were gone. Liam got into the habit of bringing them along when he collected the flowers from the graves and tended to the cemetery, because otherwise it would never get done.

They didn’t seem to mind; Harry knitted the wilted blooms into crowns and hung them over the tombstones, and then on Liam’s head when Liam took them off with a frown. Zayn took his artsy photos, mostly of the _rubbish bin_ , of all things, and Louis chattered on and on about nothing until Liam shut him up with his mouth. (It was probably what Louis wanted all along, but Liam never admitted that he knew as much.)

It was like diving back into a life he might have had, really; he got to know what it was like to talk to people his own age again, what it was like to leave the cemetery to have some drinks and watch a movie with people that had homes of their own, that lived and breathed and existed outside of his little bubble.

He learned what it was like to love someone, too, although he never said as much. It was like reading a book so many times that he could quote it on command; he knew every sound Louis made and what it meant, knew how to make his breath hitch and his voice crack. The lines and contours of someone else’s body were as familiar as his own, and far more inviting. The spine of the book, as it were, was bent; pages were folded and marked, favorite passages were highlighted, and it seemed to Liam that every time he read it through again, every time Louis came to him, he lost a new part of himself when he woke to find the bed just as empty, just as cold, as it had been on that first morning after.

There was a part of Liam, though, that never left. No matter how badly Liam wanted to forget about it, no matter how badly he wanted it gone, it stuck around. Morning after morning after morning, it would stay by his side and mutter that Louis didn’t love him back, and he never would.

\--

“Li- _iam_ ,” Louis sighed, breathy and low and soft. “Liam,” he tried again, a little bit stronger and a bit more steady. “Liam, look at me.”

Liam rolled over, threw an arm over Louis’ waist and pulled him close. He kept his eyes shut, knowing he wouldn’t be able to say it if he saw the fondness there, the overbearing lack of balance between the feelings he had and the ones that Louis showed. “I love you,” he stated, monotonous and clear and, well, he wouldn’t be able to take it back now no matter how much he might want to, which may have been the point.

There was a laugh, a little huff as Louis hid his head in Liam’s neck as a response. “I love you, too.”

“No,” Liam snapped, but his eyes didn’t open. Louis didn’t seem to acknowledge the remark, either, staying in the exact same position. He didn’t deny it, didn’t admit it, and that… well, it didn’t make anything seem to fit together any more than it did before. “You don’t – you’re never here when I _need_ you to be, you know that? Just once, I’d like to know what you look like when you wake up in the morning. Can you give me that?”

Louis sighed again, but there was no heat in it. His arms snaked their way around Liam’s waist to pull him in closer. The night was warm enough without all of that, but Liam couldn’t bring himself to pull away; it was close to an affirmation, almost, a promise that Louis would actually stick around this time.

\--

The funeral was a lonely little thing. Liam watched through his window, how there were more pallbearers than there were bystanders, how the coffin was a plain little wooden thing far too small for the hole that had been made. There was to be no gravestone, Liam had been told; the little girl was being buried in the back part of the lot with the other ones marked only by a plaque and nothing more.

He thought that maybe it was a tragedy, and she should have had more people mourning her than what she got. A lot more. He decided to go and pay his respects, even from a distance, even knowing that he’d be up there on his own in an hour or two anyway.

Purely out of habit, he stopped by Gemma’s grave. There was a little collection of daisies there, a little crown around her tombstone, and Liam couldn’t bring himself to take it off knowing who put it there.

“You would have gone, wouldn’t you,” he told her. It wasn’t a question, either; Gemma would have gone and cried harder, maybe, than anyone else. That was her, how she was. “You would have been there and you would have paid your respects.”

He thought that maybe he saw Louis in the group, in the same black button-up he wore to Gemma’s funeral. He thought he saw the feathery hair and the sharp blue eyes, standing next to a little figure done up in all black, thought for a minute that maybe Louis had brought one of his sisters to the cemetery today – but a second glance revealed that he’d been seeing things, and that little figure dressed in black was an older woman leaning heavy on a cane. Louis was nowhere in sight.

Liam picked up the little bouquet of daisies and carried it over when the ceremony was over, when everyone had gone away. He knew that Gemma wouldn’t mind, not really, and he placed it on the fresh dirt near where the tombstone might have gone, if anyone had cared to pay for one.

“I’m very sorry,” he told her, that little girl that he’d never even met and didn’t know. It made the whole ordeal seem a bit ridiculous to him, really; she didn’t want to hear _him_ apologize, some weird man who picked away all the dead flowers. Liam turned around and went home, more than a little upset.

\--

Louis slept with weary eyes, Liam noticed. His face was never smooth, never innocent or childish; his brows were furrowed, eyes squinting beneath the lids, mouth tense. No matter how many times Liam woke up to find him there, the joy was quickly dampened by concern, wondering what he could possibly be dreaming, what could haunt him so badly.

He’d been saying it wrong, he knew. It wasn’t that he loved Louis; he loved Harry, and he loved Zayn, and he loved his sisters, however distant they were. What he felt for Louis was something else entirely, was wanting to kiss away those worries and smooth out those lines until his face was something clean and fresh, until Liam could read it and understand it.

The more he tried to study Louis, the more confused and turned around he got. The stronger he felt, the more that he thought he should be pulling away, as if he was wandering into uncharted territory with no idea how to get back home.

He wondered if there was a word for that, but he didn’t have a chance to figure out. Louis blinked his blue eyes open, lines and frets falling away just like that and leaving a practiced mask of nonchalance behind in its place.

“Morning,” he murmured, burying his cold nose in Liam’s chest.

Liam stroked at his hair and smoothed it down, wishing he could understand what was going on. “Good morning, Lou,” he replied. “How did you sleep?”

“Well enough, until you woke up and started _thinking_ ,” Louis moaned, and Liam only knew he was teasing because of the quick nip to his collarbone. “You should stop doing that so often.”

Liam nodded. It was true enough, he supposed; life would be simpler if he would only stop thinking so much. “Whatever you say, Louis.”

They showered together, made their tea, bustled around the kitchen and ate breakfast quietly at the table. They helped each other get dressed – or maybe made it harder, depending – and spoke in soft kisses and gentle touches, simple little reassurances and promises that Liam couldn’t bring himself to decipher. He didn’t remember Louis ever having brought things over, but there were his clothes hanging in the closet and packed neatly in the drawers. There was his toothbrush, his razor, his hair products, mingling with Liam’s own on the tiny bathroom counter.

There was his favorite tea and his own little chipped mug, there was his coat and those were his shoes, scattered around by the door.

He didn’t remember when Louis moved in, didn’t remember where he came from or how all of his things got there, but it had happened, and who was he to question it? How could he possibly reject the idea of someone staying so close, of someone keeping him company and helping him to –

“You haven’t told me to quit my job in a while, Lou,” Liam started, suddenly, tea halfway to his mouth.

Louis smiled and shrugged. “Maybe I like you exactly where you are, Liam,” he whispered, as if he was afraid to admit it to himself. Liam wondered why.

\--

“Whoa,” Harry intoned, hand hovering over the mark on Liam’s neck. “Someone’s been _busy_.”

Zayn whistled from where he stood, hanging his coat up and unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. “What, is Dani back in town, or something?”

Liam thought of Louis upstairs, fretting over getting his hair to stand in _just_ the right way before coming downstairs to meet everyone. “No, uh. Dani and I haven’t been a thing for… a while now, I forget how long. This is from someone else, and you’re going to – well, he’s here right now, so you’ll meet him soon.”

Zayn whistled again, long and low. “He? Good for you, Liam.”

Harry, of course, wasn’t quite so sophisticated in his appreciation. He pulled away from Liam and sprinted up the steps, probably to catch Louis unawares and evaluate him purely on an unexpected first impression. Liam got the idea that they would get on fine, but. Well. Something still twisted a little uncomfortably in his gut. He shrugged at Zayn and led him into the kitchen, where they both sat down.

“So, tell me about him,” Zayn teased, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table.

Liam shook his head, smiling. “You’ll meet him in a few minutes, Zayn! Just – his name is Louis, and I don’t think I could explain him even if I tried.”

“A mystery, then,” Zayn crooned, leaning forward for emphasis and beginning to crowd into Liam’s space. “Good for you, mate. Here we were thinking you were going to spend the rest of your life celibate and lonely.”

Harry came dashing into the kitchen. “Hold your horses, Zayny, he still might. I spied no such boy in the bedroom _or_ the bathroom, and it doesn’t look like he’s in here. So he’s either invisible, or Liam’s making him up, and even if the shoes by the door indicate the former, I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

It was hard to decide what to feel just then, as Liam should have seen this coming. Louis had always run away from him, until he called him out on it; there was obviously something in him that hated getting close to people, hated going that extra step in order to make something out of nothing. Was springing Harry and Zayn on him going just a step too far?

Liam wasn’t entirely sure he could say no. He frowned, and Harry seemed to realize what he was thinking before he even said anything.

“Look, Liam, I’m sure it’s nothing. He was probably just intimidated. Sure has heard a lot about us, no doubt, and sometimes that puts pressure on people.” He tried a smile, and Liam sent it back, but he’d long since stopped listening and they both knew it.

Zayn shook his head. “I need a fag, I think.”

Harry dived over the table to grab his hand, holding tight even as Liam leapt out of the way. “You said you were quitting!” he exclaimed.

And yes, Liam was uncomfortable. Yes, it was tense and awkward. But if Harry and Zayn were willing to ignore that, then so could he. Fuck Louis, and whatever it was he was running from.

\--

Louis came home – did _he_ think it was home? – after Zayn and Harry had gone, sneaking up behind Liam and nuzzling at him through his shirt. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?” Liam asked, short, curt.

“You are, you _are_ , you’re _mad_ ,” Louis groaned, squeezing Liam tighter and trying to pull him closer, even if there was no space between them to begin with. “I’m sorry.”

It was very, very hard for Liam not to roll his eyes. “Of course you are,” he said. “You always are.” And that one little part of him, the one that had never totally gone away even when he thought it might have, reminded him that _Louis won’t ever feel the same_.

“Liam, please don’t.” It was soft, quiet like Louis only got when it was dark outside and they were together, a mess of limbs on the bed drifting off to sleep. “Don’t make this a thing.”

Only Liam couldn’t _not_ make it a thing. Louis wandering off all the time was _hard_ , even if he never admitted it. Having to tell himself, time after time after time, that he’d come back, that Liam wasn’t going to end up losing someone else in his life, was harder than maybe even he had realized until now. Living on the edge of being _something_ and being _nothing_ had been tearing him apart for months, for nearly a year, and he thought he might as well put that out there now.

“If it _is_ a thing, Louis, I’m not the one that made it that way,” he deadpanned, voice flat. “I’ve stayed right here for you, even though you’ve been going off to wherever it is you go and you’ve been doing whatever the hell it is that you do, and I’m not even sure what any of it is because you’ve never told me.”

Louis went still, but he still felt relaxed, and Liam wondered exactly how that could be. How someone could hear something like that, could be in the middle of an argument, and still be so _calm_. Even now, he had to fight to keep a hold on himself, to keep his hands from shaking and his face from falling. He knew that he was tense, knew that he had been from the second Louis put his arms around him; how was it that Louis _wasn’t_?

“It’s not _like_ that, Liam,” Louis whined, sounding so very desperate. “It’s not – I _want_ to, alright? I do. But I – it’s not. I don’t have a choice. Can’t you understand that?”

It was hard having this conversation when he couldn’t see Louis’ face. He couldn’t see if it was true, if it was real, couldn’t search for clues in the tug at the corner of his mouth or the look in his eyes. He couldn’t tell what was honest and what was said just to appease him. He should have turned around.

He didn’t.

“I don’t think I can, Louis,” he said, and _there_. Louis’ arms fell from where they’d been gripping him so tightly, and Liam could feel him walking away like a physical drag on his heart. Because how could that be possible? How could Louis let something, let _anything_ decide what he did and when? How could he tell Liam that he had no choice, that he both loved Liam and couldn’t be there whenever Liam needed him? _How?_

It wasn’t the first time that Liam had asked himself that question, and although a part of him wished that it wouldn’t be the last, a part of him – _he doesn’t love you like you love him, you know_ – told him that it would be, that this was the last time he would see Louis for a long time.

He waited and he waited for the sound of the door, but it never came. He wondered if Louis was still there, waiting for the tension to snap, waiting for something to break or give or fade away. Waiting for a chance to try again, to come up and wrap his arms around Liam’s waist and suck little marks on his skin through the thin material of his shirt, to nip at his neck and his shoulders and his spine.

There was no way to know, really. Liam couldn’t bring himself to turn around and look, couldn’t bear seeing Louis standing heartbroken – because that’s what he was, wasn’t he? that’s what they _both_ were – in the doorway, looking back and holding his breath for one last chance to apologize and jump over the explanation.

 _He doesn’t love you like you love him_. “I love you,” Liam said, and it held all of the emotion that he’d been hiding. “I love you,” he repeated, when there was no response, and it sounded just a little bit less sure, a little bit more confused.

“I love you.”

And again, there was nothing. Again, Liam was left there with that part of him, _only_ that part of him; Louis had taken everything else with him, when he left, to wherever it was that he went to when he wasn’t home.

_Is it home for him?_

No.

_Does he love you?_

No.

Liam slammed a fist down, hissed when the stove burnt him. He hurried over to the sink, turned on the cold water, and fought to breathe. The air seemed hollow, somehow, like there was nothing there for him to take anyway, not if Louis wasn’t there. He was in a vacuum, floating in a place with no gravity, where Louis couldn’t – _didn’t_ – love him, a place with an open door and an empty closet and a bed that was far too clean, with sheets that would strangle him when he slept.

\--

It was painfully obvious that something was wrong, really. Harry and Zayn never said anything, wonderful friends that they are, but they knew. Liam knew that they knew. No one said anything much about the elephant in the room, about the boy that they never met, they never knew, about how he might have hurt one that they had.

Liam tried to ignore his burnt hand, mostly because it couldn’t possibly be serious; the skin was blistering a little, sure, but that would go away. He just had to keep it wrapped. Just keep it wrapped so nothing could work its way back in and hurt it all over again, dig in deeper and make it worse.

Yes, Liam kept it all nice and tidy, all wrapped up tight and hidden up his sleeve. Using a shovel was harder now, but nothing he couldn’t manage, really; he just had to move slowly, sluggishly, until he was so bone-tired that he didn’t even dream when he slept, just collapsed on the bed for more black, dark, dead sleep. It was nice, a type of escape, although he never said as much.

The flowers were all dead now, it seemed. Flower crowns didn’t fall lightly on tombstones, and the bouquets were all brown, rotten, and falling to pieces when Liam picked them up. The rubbish bin was full to the brim of them, smelling of dirt and decay with no remnants of sweet perfume and pollen.

His closet was half-empty and the mat by the door was clear of errant shoes, and Liam couldn’t remember when exactly that had happened, but he knew that it had, just like he knew that Louis’ toothbrush and razor were gone from the bathroom and his hair product had mysteriously gone missing.

The chipped little mug was gone, and so was all of Louis’ tea, and surely Liam or Harry or Zayn had thrown them out at some point, because Louis hadn’t come back since the day that Liam had broken up with him – had he done that, really? were they broken up? how could they be, if they’d never defined themselves as being properly together? it was confusing – he knew, so he couldn’t have taken his things back, but none of it was with the flowers in the bin and none of it was in the house, and Liam had no idea where it might have gone.

Louis had dropped out of Liam’s life just as he’d come into it – suddenly, completely, and without preamble. Liam didn’t know how or when or why, but it had happened, and no matter how badly he wished it hadn’t, no amount of wishing would be bringing Louis back to him.

He’d gone and driven him away, after all, because Louis couldn’t ever love someone so lonely and lonesome as he.

\--

_the art of losing's not too hard to master  
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster._

It had been hard to request that quote, Liam remembered. Nicola had cried and Ruth had shaken her head, set against it, but Liam remembered his mum requesting that he read that poem to her several times in the hospital. Maybe she hadn’t known what it had meant, really, but Liam thought she might have; the entire poem, really, emphasized the fact that it _was_ hard to lose something, even if someone pretended that it wasn’t.

And, well, Liam’s dad had tried to pretend, but look where it got him.

Liam sat in front of the engraving and read it over and over again, wondering why he hadn’t seen all of this coming. Losing Louis was bound to be difficult, and he wasn’t going to get over it, and even if he pretended it wasn’t going to be hard on him, well, it would be. He was stupid to believe otherwise.

If anything, pretending that it didn’t hurt would end up making everything worse. Liam just didn’t know who he might talk to or what he might say, really, in order to explain how he was feeling. There was no one, really, that would understand it. None of them had understood Louis, anyway, because they’d never met him.

And damn it all, didn’t that make this so much harder? Because if Harry had known Louis, Liam could be certain that he’d existed. Zayn would be able to curse about him all day long and Liam would know that it meant something, that it was _personal_. As it was, no one knew anything but for Liam, so hearing Harry promise to punch him in the nuts really just sort of made it all worse, as Harry would never even know if it was the right Louis, and there would be no heat behind the action, because Harry couldn’t even kill a fly, much less willingly punch a person.

“Why’d you have to go?” Liam asked the stone in front of him, hoping against hope that he would get an answer. “None of this would have happened if you’d stuck around, you know,” he said, as if that made anything better.

The stone stayed silent, the words carved on its front just as horrible as they had been ten minutes ago.

“You had to go and get buried, didn’t you,” Liam said. “You had to go and leave me behind to clean up the mess and feel so guilty for leaving you. That’s karma, I suppose, and entirely my own fault, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay. It’s not okay. You’re supposed to be taking care of me, aren’t you?”

Only they weren’t, and they wouldn’t be, and that got to hurting quite a bit, so Liam tried for a distraction. He took a lazy swing at the stone, gritting his teeth against the pain of his healing burn and the crunch of his knuckles.

He hoped the bones were broken. He wanted to feel something that wasn’t hurt, that wasn’t sad or abandoned or lonely. He wanted to feel _pain_ , physical and solid and right there, because emotional pain had done him in, really, and he wasn’t sure how much more of it he could take.

Another swing and then another, and another and another until he was cursing and cradling his hand to his chest, swearing softly and fighting hard not to cry. He wouldn’t fall that far, wouldn’t stoop so low; he needed to get it all out, surely, but he didn’t need _that_.

He stood up and kicked at the useless rock in front of him, hoping that someone somewhere would feel its repercussions. If anyone did, they certainly didn’t say anything to him, and that got him all the more frustrated. Liam kicked the rock again.

“Why couldn’t you still be here?” he demanded sourly. “Why’d you have to go?” And maybe he wasn’t sad then, but he felt like he would be later, could feel the tears as if they were already there in the corners of his eyes. He wondered when they would fall, or if they ever would. Wondered if he would get relief from everything.

\--

It sort of became habit, watching the processions. He’d done it before, sort of passively, but now it was like he _had_ to. The rare times when a casket was marched down the path to the disturbed ground were a break in the monotony his life had become, away from Louis and shutting out all of his friends.

Only part of that wasn’t true, if he was being totally honest, because it didn’t feel like Louis had really _left_.

 Of course, he had well and truly left Liam. His things had yet to magically reappear from where they vanished off to, and they hadn’t really spoken since Louis walked out. But Liam had _seen_ him. At every funeral, Louis was standing there, a little off to the side. There was always someone there with him, even if it had yet to be the same person. And Liam could go up and say something, except for one thing: when he blinked, it wouldn’t be Louis anymore. It would be a stranger standing there, a man with the same color hair or a girl with a scarf wound tight around her neck. All dressed in black, just like Louis had been. Just like he would be the next time around.

One day, Liam would find it in himself to do it. One day, he would walk up to that procession and fall in step beside Louis. One day, he would apologize and plead for Louis to come back, promise him that they could go as slow as he wanted and be as unattached as he needed, just so long as he’d come back.

One day.

Day after day, Liam told himself that _the_ day hadn’t arrived just yet.

\--

The man vanished, disappeared like smoke under a fan. Louis didn’t. He stood there, beside the grave, staring down into the dirt like it might swallow him up if he asked it nicely.

Liam had been prepared. He had a speech. He’d _thought_ about it. But now? “W-what…” He looked at the place where the man had been, completely and totally empty. He hadn’t run off, he hadn’t fallen down. He’d just… gone. Somewhere. Anywhere. Liam didn’t _know_.

“Never thought I’d be talking to you again,” Louis said, a little forlorn. “I thought you’d have given up by now.”

A part of Liam’s mind insisted that it explained so much. That’s why Louis hadn’t vanished this time, why he’d still been there when Liam blinked, when he rubbed at his eyes. Louis thought that he’d been forgotten. He was an idiot.

“No,” Liam insisted, a bit stronger than he meant. Louis’ lips twitched a little bit, a small hint of a smile that Liam couldn’t even bother to cling to just then. “What are you?”

The twitch faded back to a straight line. Louis shook his head, shut his eyes. “Li, please don’t. I’d – you should have just let me go, you know, even if I didn’t want to leave.”

“Then why did you?” he asked, just a little bit intrigued. “What are you?” Just in case.

“I can’t – ugh,” Louis sighed. “If I tell you one, then I’ve got to tell the other, don’t you see? I wasn’t supposed to get close with you to begin with. That’s not – it isn’t what I _do_.”

Liam stepped closer. He expected Louis to take a step back or push him away, expected to be told off and reprimanded for reaching after something he wasn’t allowed to have anymore, but Louis didn’t object. He leaned into Liam, shoulder to chest, and it might have been awkward when Liam wrapped his arms around him, but it wasn’t; it was comfort that they both needed, apparently, if the way that Louis gripped onto Liam’s shirt was anything to go by.

“What did you do to him?” Liam tried again, hoping that he would find the right question and Louis would snap, spilling everything that he couldn’t say.

Louis shook his head. “Exactly what I was supposed to do with you, love,” he murmured.

That didn’t explain much, really, but Liam could fit the pieces together. He remembered all of those times when Louis would mention something that he shouldn’t know, would act confused when Liam called him on it. He remembered seeing Louis with people at the funerals, suddenly disappearing with no trace behind. The way that he refused to meet Harry or Zayn, how he never seemed to be anywhere but the cemetery and Liam didn’t ever hear him mentioning a flat or a house to go home to when he wasn’t in the cottage.

“You’re… that, then.”

Louis nodded. “It’s alright that you don’t want to say it. For what it’s worth, we’re not… _reapers_ , or anything like that. We don’t actually do the killing. We just tell you where to go, after… after it’s already been done.”

“And I was supposed to die,” Liam continued, scarcely hearing his own voice over the pounding in his ears.

There was a minute of silence. There was a shake running through Louis now, a light tremor. He sniffed quietly, and Liam realized with a start that he was crying.

“You didn’t, though, Liam.” A little hiccough that might have been a laugh. Liam tried to focus on his breathing, to hold it all in. “For whatever reason, you didn’t. And you could see me anyway, and… I was lonely.” It sounded like there was more to it than that, but Liam didn’t want to push it.

It was hard to imagine, anyway. Spending all of that time alone, dealing with people who had lost everything and had no idea where to go. It had to have been lonely. Worse than that, even. At least Liam could say that he’d brought it all on himself, the isolation and the time alone; Louis didn’t seem to want it.

“What about your mum? Your sisters? Who are they, really?” he prompted. If he was hearing bits and pieces, he might as well hear it all.

Louis laughed. “You just found out that you were supposed to die, and you still want to know about _me._ ” Liam laughed, too, and Louis finally looked up at him with a small smile, eyes watery and brighter blue than they might have ever been. (He might have imagined that last bit.) “They were from before. It’s – the afterlife is kind of whatever you want it to be, I guess? And I always thought that we’d be guided to wherever we needed to go by someone who knew the way, so when I died, I became that person. I don’t exactly know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to explain it. And you don’t have to be lonely, either.” It sounded so strong to Liam’s ears; it was hard to believe that he was the one saying it. Inside, he felt like an absolute mess. “You can come back and stay with me a while.”

There was something in him that knew Louis would say no before he even suggested it, but that didn’t stop him, and he didn’t regret it until he saw the look on Louis’ face: pained, like even the idea was tearing him apart.

“I can’t keep you here, Liam. You’re so young, you know, and the longer you spend with me, the more you’re going to waste your life. You need to – you need to get out and go somewhere. You need to see the world and go exploring, like I never got to. I can’t keep you here just for me.”

It hurt. Like a knife pounding into Liam’s gut, the words shot through him and struck him down. “You won’t be keeping me here,” he promised. “I’d like to stay. I’d like to be with you.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Louis shook his head. “This isn’t a life, Liam, it’s a nightmare. I don’t want you living it anymore.”

\--

The room didn’t seem so empty when Louis was in it, just a tiny lump curled up on the bed. It was oddly similar to the lump in Liam’s throat, he thought, but he wasn’t going to admit to that. He pressed his lips to Louis’ forehead, felt the tears brimming in his eyes and _wished_ , not for the first time, that they would fall. Because this was worth crying over. This was worth giving up everything. This was worth staying back and watching himself grow old in a cemetery, surrounded by graves and the parents he’d abandoned.

Only it wasn’t about them, not anymore. It hadn’t been about them for a long time. He’d done all he could for those that were already dead, it seemed, and if he couldn’t see them, couldn’t hold them or speak to or hear them, then there was nothing left for him to do. The only reason he had to stay anymore was Louis.

And Louis didn’t want him to stay. If he tried, he’d be fought every step of the way, reminded of the life he might have had and what he could have done. If he stayed, there’d be a “Help Wanted” ad on the table every morning and a picture of some brand new country he’d never heard of on the fridge. He could stay, but Louis wouldn’t be happy with him for it, and.

This was all about making Louis happy, even if it didn’t seem like either of them would end up that way.

\--

“Paris suits you,” Zayn told him from his place on the mattress, Perrie curled up under his arm and beneath the sheets.

Liam unwrapped the scarf from his neck and hung it behind the door, along with his jacket. He tugged uncomfortably at the sleeves of the jumper that was too small for him – Louis’ arms, as it turned out, were a _lot_ shorter than his own – and smiled at the ground.

“Thanks for letting me tag along, mate,” he said.

Perrie giggled. “You’ll never get a job looking like that. Have some confidence, Mr. Payne!”

Liam looked at her, straightened out his shoulders, and puffed out his chest. “Didn’t realize I was being interviewed,” he defended, trying to make his voice sound deep and mature.

“Get _out_ ,” Zayn groaned, throwing a shoe at him. “Now that you’ve taken off the scarf and the coat, you look all English again, and I can’t _look_ at you when you’re all tea and biscuits!”

Liam snorted and fled from the room, headed towards the small little closet that he called home. Zayn had taken the second bedroom as an art studio, so he and Perrie used most of the flat as their bed and, well, Liam didn’t like to think about what else, but he had the bedroom tucked into the corner, the one without the view or the balcony and just a simple little cot in the corner. It was enough.

Paris might have suited him, but he couldn’t seem to find a place. Every time he tried, he was disappointed by the fact that Louis wasn’t, never _would_ be there.

\--

Liam dropped the bouquet onto the kitchen table, staring at it like it was going to bite his hand off. Harry gave him an odd look from where he was cooking on the stove.

“Li, did you pull that out of the garbage?” he asked, turning away to focus on his pasta and sauce.

He had, actually. It had been thrown there by a pretty girl, one yelling at a man to leave her be or she would call the police. The roses were a pretty color, an entirely unnatural shade of pink, and he’d felt the need to pick it up even if the petals were falling off and all of the buds were a little smashed, a little lopsided. It reminded him of things he hadn’t let himself think of in quite a few months.

“I suppose that’s Scotland for you,” Liam sighed, sitting down at the table. “No one appreciates a nice bouquet.”

Harry snorted. “Liam, no one will ever appreciate them to the extent that you do. It isn’t just a Scottish thing. I think you’re just a little bit nostalgic for back when you knew what was going on in your life and didn’t spend your time travelling around.”

Of course he was. He _always_ was. Looking at the bouquet, Liam could feel that familiar tug in his chest, the one telling him to go back home. Louis would be waiting for him there, he knew it, and even if it wasn’t what he wanted, Liam would go back to him. They would go back to how they had been.

“I should have been a florist,” Liam whined, if only because he knew he was supposed to say something. Harry hummed in agreement, but not once did he look away from the pots and pans in front of him. Liam sighed and got up to get a vase for the flowers; they’d suffered enough abuse for one day, he thought.

\--

He was in front of a cemetery for the first time in years. It was the wrong cemetery, of course, and he didn’t exactly know why he was there, but the bottle of wine in his hand told him that he had a reason, and the paper in the other hand told him that he knew what it was. He walked forward through the stones, ignoring the engravings and shouting a polite greeting to the statues – who knows, maybe they got lonely too.

The tears were falling before he knew what had happened. He felt them on his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his hands; they were everywhere, falling like raindrops on his face.

He smiled through them. _Finally_ , the tears came through.

The letter in his hands had a little drop of water on it, though, seeping through the paper and spreading the ink around. Liam frowned at it, upset that it was getting ruined before he’d done what he wanted –

There. A statue with its hands outstretched, like it needed something to hold onto. Liam went up to it and placed the letter in its open palm, nodding.

“Take good care of that,” he ordered. “Make sure _Louis Tomlinson_ gets it.”

And that’s why he’d come, really. Louis wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be anywhere but home, but that didn’t mean that Liam wasn’t going to do anything about this. Bouquets in rubbish bins before they had wilted, before their time had come to be collected – Louis would understand the tragedy in that. He would see the sadness that Liam saw, the melancholy that gave his tears free reign to fall.

“Someone threw out a bouquet of fresh roses,” Liam told the statue, hoping it would understand him. “Louis is the only one that knows why I’d be upset over it, I think.” He nodded, pointing a finger in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion at the statue. “Please make sure he gets that letter.”

\--

When it finally happened, it was because of his kidneys. They’d been fixed by some miracle, before, but Liam might have guessed that miracles have expiration dates.

He’d been visiting his sister in Wales, meeting his new nieces and nephew that he’d never known he’d had. And they’d given out. The doctors hadn’t been able to do anything about it, really, and he’d gone away in a very loud, painful day or two – time sort of blurred together, from his perspective.

He wondered if he would have to wait until his funeral to find Louis, or if sometimes there were people who waited for death at the hospital that might take him away. But he couldn’t see, couldn’t open his eyes, didn’t know what was happening or if he was even dead yet, because how could he, really?

Eventually, he could. Eventually, he was in his graveyard, with Louis sitting at his feet weaving crowns out of neglected bouquets. He looked up with those bright blue eyes, sad and happy in a way that Liam had never learned to be.

“I got your letter,” he said. And then, because he could, “When I told you to go off and live your life, I didn’t mean for you to go and kill yourself trying.”

Liam laughed, and so did Louis. For a moment. After that, they fell silent, looking at each other with heavy hearts and old eyes.

“What do you believe in, Liam?” Louis asked, and all the happiness in him was gone. “Where am I sending you?”

“You,” Liam replied, easily, steadily. He’d thought this speech out ahead of time, and he’d be damned if he was going to let Louis wriggle out of it again. “I believe in you.”

Louis grinned, and Liam saw the tears fall just as clearly as he felt his own.


End file.
